My Turn

The fifth batch of 15 ticket holders was called up to the front of the courtroom. Soon my name was called.

The judge asked, "Have you read and understood your rights?"

"Yes," I replied.

The first one says that I have the right to hear my ticket read in court. I took that to mean that I could ask clarifying questions about it.

She asked, "And how would you like to plead?"

I responded, "What does the 26mph mean on the pictures on my ticket?"

She replied that it is the speed I was going when the cameras were woken up to pay attention to me.

This was not even close to any reason I was expecting.

"So, it has nothing to do with this infraction?" I asked, shocked.

She explained in several sentences again, not wanting to address my disbelief but to just give me the facts again in case I had missed them the first time.

I was furious. I found this ticket very frustrating to understand and part of it was this piece of data, which now I learned had nothing to do with the infraction.

"Why is this even included in my ticket?" I asked. But of course they were not going to appear too sympathetic in this court appearance.

I spent decades in hi-tech building and testing systems with user interfaces of one sort or another. This ticket format made no sense to me. Until I realized that I, the defendant, the ticket receiver, was not the customer for this software.

The room was quiet for a minute. I debated asking this next question. And then I did.

"So, it sounds like if I went slow enough at some point, then the camera wouldn't wake up and then I might be able to get through that intersection without stopping and without getting a ticket?"

The judge either nodded her head yes or just let it go. I don't remember. A murmur passed through the court. I was furious.

The judge wasn't making eye contact with me at this point as she had done with everyone else before me. I really wasn't interested in making too big of a scene and felt that probably my grace period was running out. I was still furious but I'd have to fight this situation another way.

But there was one more thing.

I said, "This would be easier to accept had I not seen two different police cars do the exact same thing the day after I got my ticket."

The judge nodded and looked down, saying nothing.

I stood for a few more seconds of silence. I don't remember quite how the rest played out but at some point I pleaded No Contest, not being able to muster the word Guilty, even though I knew they meant the same thing. She offered me traffic school and I whispered yes, afraid that if I actually spoke, something wouldn't go so well.

While the next person was called up, I waited for the paper from staff documenting that I would pay $409 by Dec. 16. I couldn't look at them and I bolted out of there.

The officer monitoring entries and exits from this courtroom had started to open the door to let others in. He let me out first and said, "See you next time."

Yes, he actually said that to me. In a flash in my head, I imagined many different ways he could've meant that but really, I thought, how low to be in his position of power, to be dressed in what looked like full police gear, to have looked me in the eye and to surely have seen my frustration and say something easily interpreted as inciteful to someone in that state.

Being a defendant in a courtroom was not on my bucketlist. And now that I have felt this joy, I have not added to my bucketlist a second occurrence.

I duly noted an officer behaving badly and I would not meet him there.

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